


Unknown Elements

by Fuguestate



Category: The Shape of Water (2017)
Genre: AU, Fix-It, Gen, Justice for Dmitri 2K18, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 02:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuguestate/pseuds/Fuguestate
Summary: What would have happened if Dimitri had stayed in his apartment long enough to answer Zelda’s telephone call?





	Unknown Elements

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jirging](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jirging/gifts).



Dmitri spares one last glance at the little apartment. It’s been more of a holding pen than a home, though at least he can say he left it in good condition - his daily checks for surveillance devices kept it clutter-free and studiously cleaned on a regular basis. The landlord probably won’t have ever seen it so thoroughly cared-for, though Dmitri wonders briefly if he would even notice. Not that it matters. He sighs to himself and reaches to close the door one last time.

The phone's ring is startling enough that the doorknob rattles briefly in his hand. It's shrill in the emptiness of his apartment, jarring him with sudden fears of discovery, or of his extraction denied through KGB investigation, or simply Mihalkov's cruel whim. Any one of them is possible, given how close the promise of returning home has been. He considers ignoring it and leaving anyway, with the unreasoning fear of a child looking at a dark closet. Ultimately, though, the preference of a known threat versus an unknown one wins out and makes him re-enter the apartment to answer.

" _Doctor Hoffstetler?_ " The voice is entirely unexpected, and it takes him long seconds to recognize the cleaning woman he'd helped.

"Yes…" His stomach ties in a heavy knot - there's something wrong, if she's using the card he gave her. "Mrs.…. Fuller, was it?" 

" _Yes, sir. Please, you—Elisa's… **friend** , is in a bad way, sir. We need your help._"

Oh god. They were supposed to _release_ him! “I thought he had… gone home by now?” He’s frantically calculating the last time he checked his phone for bugs as he speaks.

“ _He was going to go soon,_ ” Mrs. Fuller is admirably careful with her words, “ _but he got real sick. Please, can you come help?_ ”

“Where are you?” He listens to her directions, committing them to memory. He’ll have to ditch the taxi waiting for him downstairs; he wouldn’t trust that it’s not one of Mihalkov’s men. He glances out the window as he thinks of it, and his eyes land on a gray car that’s huddled across the street in the downpour. With a jolt of alarm, he recognizes it as the same one he’d seen watching him a few days ago.

 _Shit._ He doesn’t know if he said it aloud or not. “I’m being watched.” He hears her gasp on the other end of the line. “I’ll get there. It’s just – going to take longer.”

“ _Wait!_ ” He hears her call to someone named Giles, and his estimation of her goes up as he hears her hasty explanation. There’s a shifting sound, and then he recognizes the voice of the van driver.

“ _Uh, hello? Zelda said you need another way in. You could, um… oh! There’s the chocolate factory, at the end of the block. It burned recently - I don’t know how close you can get to it, but you can see our building from there, and come around to the back. I’ll make sure the door’s open._ ”

“It'll do. If I’m not there in an hour, do what you can.” He hears the man – Giles – give a gulped affirmative, and hangs up the phone. Who _are_ these people? They can’t possibly be as inept as they sound, but he has no idea which government would use such a strategy with its agents. Not that it matters right now – they’re the creature’s only hope of safety, and he has to reach them.

He can feel the minutes beginning to slip away, but he still takes the time to reassure himself that there were indeed no devices in his phone. He then strides to the door and retrieves his suitcase from where he set it down in the hallway, unceremoniously opening it on the table and snatching up what essentials he’ll be able to carry with him. Doing so, he permits himself one long breath’s worth of sorrow, weighed down with the knowledge that he’s not going to make it home now – likely, not ever. It sinks into him like lead, pulling him toward despair. He doesn't want to die in this country… if he could see home just one more time, have just one sunset… 

He forces those maudlin thoughts back, sorting through documents for alternate identities. None of them will hide him from Mihalkov, but they might at least buy him time if he gets a chance to use one. He can't get to anything at Occam that would help them, not without risking more than he already has. There’s a back way out of the building, at least, though he’ll have to navigate through a few awkward spots. His umbrella might not be practical for long, and his face twists as he thinks of the condition he’ll be in with this rain. A part of him mourns the necessity of abandoning the books sitting in his suitcase as he grimly loads his pistol; they're the only possession he'd ever consider precious. Books can be bought, though, and if they’re not the same ones that were given to him, they can at least carry those memories in their words.

Assuming he survives, that is. Assuming this all doesn’t end in failure and death.

He angrily pushes that thought aside as he dials the phone, gives urgent instructions for a new taxi. He’ll have to hurry to meet it, but with luck it’ll be far enough away to evade Occam’s watchers.

-

The rain makes it almost impossible to see; the sky is nearly as dark as evening already, and he keeps having to wipe at his glasses. Dmitri can only hope that it's just as much an impediment to anyone trying to find him, since there’s no way he can keep watch for any tails as he hastily navigates alleys and side streets. The urge to run is nearly overwhelming, but he knows it would only attract attention. Even so, he's still moving at an urgent quick-march that’s wrong for the time of day, but it’s the best he can manage against thoughts of the creature dying, and the creeping suspicion of every car and person he sees or imagines through the sheets of rain.

When he spots the taxi, it takes everything in him not to sprint the short distance left. He lets brusqueness conceal the panic seeping into his voice, and thankfully the driver seems to take it as a matter of course. He scrubs his glasses clean with a handkerchief and counts the minutes to their destination the whole way, practically throwing his money at the driver in his haste at their arrival.

His jaw nearly drops at the sight of the enormous marquee gracing the front of the building he’s supposed to reach – they’re keeping the creature in a place that practically screams to be looked at! Mind whirling, he determinedly sets off for the alley at the back. Thankfully, the rain is still keeping passers-by more concerned with staying dry than observing their surroundings, and he manages to keep his pace on par with them.

If the marquee shocked him, the laundry van parked in the back causes sheer outrage. Certainly, it’s tucked near a dumpster in a shadowed area, but it’s on the street right _at_ the building! His gaze casts around in instinctive paranoia as he approaches, but he can’t resist drawing near it when he notices something off about the lettering on the side. It’s… _melting_. The lettering is hand-painted, he can see now, well-executed but in a paint that’s entirely inadequate for automobiles. Dimly, he reflects that it’s just lucky it wasn’t raining the day they were at the lab. He has to almost literally shake himself free of this mystery, remembering the reason he’s there. Quickly, he gives a furtive knock at the door before trying it.

The driver of that infuriating van – Giles, he remembers - is just on the other side, and gives a short cry of surprise at Dmitri’s arrival. “Oh! You’re here – please, she’s – they’re – he’s, upstairs…” he steps awkwardly aside, looking like he’s got a thousand questions but no idea where to begin. Dmitri doesn’t give him a chance to rally any of them, removing his dripping hat and striding firmly up the steps as Giles hurries to keep up.

The narrow stair thrums with distracting voices from the movie playing in the cinema house, and the walls and floor of the halls set his teeth on edge with their state of decay. He can hear water dripping over the inanely cheerful dialogue filtering up from below. Approaching the two open doors at the end of the hallway, he glances in the one on the right and makes out piles of books and artist's supplies. They surround a television playing some comedy or other, and a drawing board covered in startlingly well-rendered - even beautiful - depictions of the amphibian man. To the left, he sees a worn table in front of a tiny kitchen, surrounded by any number of bowls and pans that lie under countless leaks in the ceiling. The object of his fascination and anguish stands unsteadily beneath one of them.

He looks wholly out of place in this strange, dingy apartment – but then again, somehow he doesn't. Light filters up through spaces in the exposed support flooring, flowing in a near-liquid dance from the projections below. The worn grays of the floorboards and peeling walls have the cast of waves on a stormy day, and the yellowing wallpaper turns golden under the faint electric lights… it feels for a moment as though the creature is drawing forth the colors of his own self, inspiring the environment to shift in accommodation of the impossible. Dmitri stands frozen in the doorway, watching him lean into the water falling onto his face and shoulder with eyes closed and mouth open in a pose too despairing to be merely animal. A rattle sounds in the creature's chest, and a flutter of movement suddenly makes Dmitri realize the creature isn't alone. 

The small cleaning woman who began all of this is there, stepping directly into the amphibian man's space, and Dmitri experiences a moment's terror at the realization that there are no restraints here, no walls or locks, nothing to ensure anyone's safety… but then he watches her lay a hand over the place a heart would lie on a human, delicately twining the fingers of her other hand between lethal claws as far as the webbing of the amphibian man's hand will allow. He watches the creature blink his eyes open slowly to look down at her, echoing her gesture as she looks at him with the fierce desperation of one trying to _will_ life into another. _They're a couple_ , he realizes with utter shock. He wonders at himself that he doesn't feel disgusted at the revelation, but – how can he? In the face of the things he's done, and allowed to be done… He's easily been more inhuman than the being standing in front of him now; just the thought of comparison between them is obscenely farcical. Despite all his work and any number of ideals he's invoked, he's really only managed to prove how destructive and miserable humanity can be, leading only to years of loneliness and isolation. By contrast, he can feel the unfettered, absolute love between them, even more now than he did when he spied on them in the lab. Every ounce of him wishes he could experience even a few seconds of such a connection with someone.

He must have made some sound, because both of them turn to look at him. The way they move in unison unnerves and draws him in all at once, and he finds himself stumbling closer. The creature is so _tall_ , he realizes – he always only saw him restrained, or collapsed. Here, even struggling for breath, he stands with a still grace, and his eyes look on Dmitri with an unmistakable intelligence. As he approaches, those eyes fill his vision until all he can see is opalescent gold in a sea of darkness that rises to swallow him whole… He finds himself falling into it gratefully, with the relief of a long battle finished. 

_The smells of brine and damp earth suddenly engulf him as the rest of the world slips away. He sees himself as if from a distance, impassively recounting events of his life in flickers of vision, sensation… he watches struggles, failures, hard-won victories, all as brief and insignificant as a drift of flower petals in the wind. It matters and doesn't matter in the way that a single grain of sand changes the contour of a shore._

__

__

_He doesn't know how long it lasts – a second, an eternity – it's all the same, somehow, and not important. He is floating, surrounded by warmth and movement and dark and light and death that feeds life that spreads and changes and diminishes and ends and decays and changes and becomes different life that feeds more life that ends and begins and ends and never—_

Dmitri gasps in a breath, his eyes flying open as he returns to himself. He is looking up at the creature, who is now standing directly in front of him, and the sudden absence of warmth at the side of his face tells him the creature's hand had been there. The amphibian man's head tilts, studying him, and abruptly something pulls loose and Dmitri is sobbing, feeling as though everything he's been holding back all this time is finally being allowed to rush out of him. It pulls his knees to the floor, doubles him over. He gives no thought to how this must look, or why he is doing it – it's _needed_ , is all he knows, and every breath sawing its way through him feels like poison being drawn out. 

A small hand lights on his arm and he looks over to… Elisa, he remembers her name. Miss Esposito. She's crouched next to him and in her eyes is pity, and understanding, and… forgiveness. She knows the things they were doing at Occam. She knows that Strickland wasn't responsible for all of them, and yet he can see no fear or condemnation in her now.

Slowly he calms and gathers himself to stand again, remembering why he's here. Before he can dry his eyes, he sees the creature move and a clawed hand lifts toward his face. He can only reflect on how changed his perspective has become when he feels no desire to flinch as the edge of a scaled fingertip collects his tears.

They watch the amphibian man lift his hand to his mouth, tasting. His eyes close, and Dmitri is startled to see tiny flickers of blue limning the creature's scales – something he's never seen him do before. Even as he marvels at its beauty, his mind tries to catalog it, to determine the cause. It can't be just the moisture - he thinks of the leak in the ceiling, wondering why that was more attractive than the full bathtub he can see in Elisa's tiny bathroom, why his tears caused that response… 

The spell is broken when Miss Esposito turns toward him, urgently moving her hands. Her companion Giles steps toward her and begins to translate, and Dmitri notes how easily the amphibian man accepts his presence.

"' _He needs natural water, like the rain._ ' He did improve a little, when he came out here," Giles adds helpfully, then continues with her next thought: "' _There are still too many people outside to get him to the canal, but we need to get him to better water, from outside._ '" 

"Outside?" Dmitri is confused. "I gave you what he should need in his water—" 

She cuts him off firmly, even as she seems to be looking for the right words. Giles' voice sounds slightly bemused as he conveys, "' _That water isn't… alive._ '" She points with a gesture even Dmitri can interpret: _Look_.

He turns and sees that the creature has turned back toward one of the several drips coming from the ceiling, his gills fluttering uselessly. _Alive_ , she said… he thinks of water purification plants with their need to prepare tap water for human consumption by sterilizing it, considers all the work he's had to do putting organic matter _into_ the creature's tank since they received him. If rain could help his condition… "Is there a roof access?"

"No, it's locked," Giles shakes his head. "Only the front door and the alley, I'm afraid."

An idea lights up behind Miss Esposito's eyes and she signs urgently to Giles.

"Pans?" He's puzzled for a moment and indicates the myriad of containers catching water on the floor. "I think you've got most of mine over here already." He watches her carefully. "' _Take them outside and collect what you can_ '… Ah! You mean bring _that_ water up here to—" He cuts himself off, his hand fluttering toward the tub where she is already headed, with the amphibian man close behind her. Quickly he turns and rushes to what is evidently his apartment, while Dmitri is left bemusedly listening to the tub drain being opened and the clattering of kitchenware across the hall. 

He approaches Miss Esposito in the bathroom, wincing at the labored whistling of the amphibian man's breathing. "How do you know all of this? Where did you study, what's your specialty?" She acts with such authority, but he knows – he _knows_ there's no one else with the level of knowledge Occam had on their so-called "asset".

She stops up the tub again at a halfway point, slipping past the creature with a worried touch to his cheek and returning to the main room as Giles returns with a stack of pots. Looking back at Dmitri, her expression while signing conveys what her friend says for her: _I don't know._

"You— _what?_ "

_I don't know. Neither of us does. We've just been doing what we can with your help this whole time._

He stares at her, stupefied. It can't be true – how could she possibly have done everything she did? He looks around at her apartment again, taking in the leaky roof, the shabby furniture, all the signs of wear and poverty. She meets his eyes patiently, without guile, and he finally sees – this isn't a front hiding secret resources. It's not a role to be played, but a reality - this is really all there is.

A clank makes him jump and he turns to see Giles fumbling with the collection of cookingware in his arms, barely recovering it. In this moment, it's somehow an embodiment of what his life has become, and he's overcome with a sputtering wave of laughter.

It's not what anyone, especially Dmitri, was expecting. Even the creature turns to look at him, and the quizzical tilt of his head just makes him laugh that much harder. He can’t stop, especially when he remembers all of Fleming's convoluted fretting and musings over who could have stolen Occam's asset. Oh god, what are they doing… Amid gasps for air, he finally wheezes out, “No - no strike teams… no names, no ranks—" He shakes his head at the punchline, grasping his sore ribs. “Just…a cleaning woman… and an artist…” 

Miss Esposito draws herself up slightly with mock sternness, and signs something to him. He watches her friend chuckle, and then translate from behind his armload:

“' _Two cleaning women, thank you very much._ '” 

Dmitri removes his glasses, wiping a tear. "Yes, you're right," he admits with one last hysterical giggle. "Forgive me." Sobriety returns, and he focuses on the amphibian man. "Forgive me."

The amphibian man looks at him, making a faint chirp. Giles clears his throat quietly. "We should get downstairs."

Miss Esposito turns and grabs a few containers from the floor, handing them to Dmitri. As he takes them, he mentally catalogues her urgent sign as _"Hurry"_ , even as Giles assures "We will!" over his shoulder.

-

They clatter down the stairs to the alley and, mercifully, there are a few streams of water coming off the awning above part of the cinema's loading dock. It's a matter of moments before Dmitri begins the trek back up the stairs to begin their makeshift bucket brigade. Miss Esposito meets him at the top to trade for an empty one, and the pattern is established. There are still hours until they can try reaching the canal; they need to keep the creature stable for a little longer. 

He braces himself every time the outer door opens, expecting to hear shouts, or sirens, or a gunshot. His absence has no doubt been noted by now, and he can only hope that his haphazard attempt at evasion was good enough to keep Mihalkov away from here, to say nothing of Strickland. He thinks of the abuses he allowed – and committed – upon the amphibian man with shamed fury at himself; he mustn't allow it to happen again, not now.

On his eighth trip up the stairs he hears a panicked "Sweet Jesus!" when he reaches the top and narrowly avoids upending a pot onto Mrs. Fuller. She stands in her coat catching her breath for a moment. "Doctor Hoffstetler! What on earth are you doing? Elisa?" She turns to Miss Esposito, peeking out from her apartment with an empty mixing bowl.

"We're trying rainwater, to see if it helps until we release him," he supplies as Mrs. Fuller takes the bowl to free Miss Esposito's hands. She nods confirmation and then signs something to him briefly.

"' _He's doing a little better,_ '" Mrs. Fuller supplies, and he lets himself feel a tiny flicker of hope. "How much more does he need?"

She thinks for a moment, then decides, " _'A little more than you've already brought up.'_ "

He nods and hands over the pot he's holding. Mrs. Fuller gives him the empty bowl, saying "I'll be right behind you." He nods again in gratitude, and hurries back down the stairs.

-

With one more person helping, they make shorter work of the rest. The muscles of Dmitri's thighs are burning from the repeated journey up the stairs, and his left knee is warning of retribution, but the three of them make it upstairs one last time without incident. Miss Esposito takes the last containers like offerings, pouring them carefully into the tub where the amphibian man now lies. As she adds salt, and the formulation Dmitri provided, she absently indicates something to the rest of them.

Mrs. Fuller nods. "Mmhm, may as well – your bathroom's big enough!" Dmitri wonders what that means for a moment, until Giles exits and comes back with a couple of chairs. Mrs. Fuller sets them near the tub as he goes out once more, and returns with a short stool. Dmitri sinks down gratefully across from them as everyone sheds outerwear and settles. He watches Miss Esposito, who doesn't look away from the amphibian man. He's resting, it seems; his eyes have drifted closed and his breathing has leveled out, but one webbed hand covers hers, occasionally shifting as though to reassure himself of her presence.

Dmitri can't help the twist of envy he feels looking at them. He tried whenever he could to be gentle, to make a connection with the creature… he prayed daily for the breakthrough that would make Occam, Mihalkov, _anyone_ see that this was an intelligent being they had wrongly imprisoned. But in the end, all he was doing was trying to soften blows that never stopped coming. He can at least be glad for his part in bringing the creature here, among his unlikely saviors.

He's brought out of his reverie when Giles stirs from his seat across the small room. "Forgive me, but in all of the hubbub I've never found out – who are you, exactly?" He can see the wariness in the other man's eyes, and remembers suddenly that their introduction involved Dmitri stabbing the syringe meant to destroy the creature into an MP's neck.

Where to begin? He sees questions in the two women's eyes as well, and takes a deep breath. "My name _was_ Robert Hoffstetler, Doctor of Marine Biology. My name _is_ Dmitri Antonovich Mosenkov – the doctorate remains the same." He smiles with bitter self-deprecation. "I was sent here, not necessarily to steal knowledge for my country, but to prevent this country from gaining it. I have partially succeeded, I suppose, but thankfully not in the way I was ordered to do." He looks at each of them, facing their curious trepidation. "The day you rescued the creature – the day he was to be vivisected – " Giles flinches in his peripheral vision, "I had been ordered to kill him first."

Miss Esposito's eyes widen, and she signs to him while Mrs. Fuller translates. "' _That's why you were ready to make the lights go out._ '"

"That was to be for my escape," he nods, and then leans forward. "Miss Esposito… I never thanked you. You saved both of us that day." 

It's as though she can see the weight he's been carrying all this time – not just from his mission here, but also from the isolation that a life of deception and suspicion, of being backed into corners in the name of loyalty, has brought. Her eyes soften, shining with tears, and as her hands move he hears the same softness in Mrs. Fuller's voice.

"' _You've done so much for us – please, call me Elisa._ '"

He has to blink back tears of his own at her acceptance, which he sees echoed in her companions' expressions. Mrs. Fuller manages a smile and says, "If 'Elisa' 's good enough for her, 'Zelda' is fine with me. Seems silly to stand on formalities after all this anyway."

Giles, whose first name is the only one he knew, leans forward, offering his hand. "Giles DuPont," he formalizes their introduction with a surprising lack of hesitation, considering what he witnessed. "A friend of Elisa's is a friend of mine, and my friends call me Giles."

He takes the offered hand and can only nod in gratitude to them all. "Dmitri. Thank you."

They sit quietly for a moment, looking at the creature resting. Zelda stirs, looking closer. "He does look better." She glances at the creature's and Elisa's joined hands, shaking her head. "Hmp. Doesn't say a word, and even _he_ can show appreciation better than my Brewster."

Giles looks over his glasses at her. "Your husband, madam, is an idiot."

It prompts a laugh from Zelda, especially when Elisa looks over her shoulder to nod agreement. "Ah, I needed that," she smiles, but sobers again to look at Dmitri. "But… you said someone was watching you? Someone from Occam, or…" 

"Both, I'm afraid." He puts a hand to his temple with a sigh as he remembers. "I was to be extracted tonight; they're expecting me at our rendezvous point. Or they were… by now they'll know I've gone, if they didn't know already."

"But you got away, right?"

He looks at her. "I hope so. We have to be careful."

-

Time ticks by with quiet tension. The downpour increases, and the creature's condition makes it clear that their hard-won respite is slipping away. After their brief conference they had all left the amphibian man and Elisa alone in the bathroom, with the air of mourning family. Now it falls to Dmitri to tap on the door and offer silent apology when it's time to go.

They employ an overcoat and hat for cover – ridiculous, clumsy things lying against shimmering scales that actually need the water falling outside, but they need this faint camouflage even more. The amphibian man allows the strange ritual, reaching up to touch the fabric where they've simply draped it over his shoulders with an inquisitive squeak. It catches Dmitri between tears and laughter, and he has to force himself to focus on their task. His gun lies heavy in his pocket, and he can't get his heart to stop hammering.

The stairs seem both longer and shorter than he remembers from so short a time ago, and opening the door to the alley is an exercise in slow terror. But their way is unblocked, and the van sits quietly in its place, its lettering finally all but obliterated as the rain pelts down. He and Zelda guide the draped figure carefully into the back of the van, and it's at that moment Dmitri turns and recognizes Mihalkov's men exiting the car down the alley from them. 

A part of him can only feel a backward relief that his suspicions were confirmed – he no longer has to wonder _if_. The other part can only feel bitter exasperation that only _now_ does his government feel a need for urgent action. Zelda's gasp before he slams the door shut tells him she has seen as well, and he races to the front of the van.  
Giles had wisely conceded that Dmitri would likely be a better driver for this situation, and Dmitri wastes no time looking to see if the men behind them are running back to their car or taking aim at them as he hauls the van into gear.

The windshield wipers can barely keep up with the rain splattering down, and the road is almost completely covered in water at various points. Dmitri's knuckles are white on the steering wheel as he tightropes between acceleration and hydroplaning out of control. He keeps the waterfront on his left as much as he can, running red lights and rounding corners at random to try to shake their pursuers. It's of no use, ultimately – the rain has taken most of the traffic that might have provided cover. Desperately, he shifts tactics and speeds to the dock by Giles' frantic directions, hoping now for enough of a lead to do what they need to.

He drives as close to the edge of the dock as he dares, maneuvering it with its back toward the water. Mihalkov's men stop at the dock entry, blocking their exit as they leave their car once more with guns drawn. "Stay down!" Dmitri shouts, opening his door and taking aim with a hand that shakes with adrenalin. The storm around them is all but deafening, reducing even Zelda's frantic prayer from inside the van to an unintelligible murmur. The two agents are shouting something as they come near – he makes out _sdacha_ , surrender, and sneers. There is no surrendering, he knows; his life is over if he stops now.

They're flanking the van, and he can't allow that. He's got no hope of actually hitting them as he squints through rain-spattered glasses but fires anyway, hearing the echo bounce off the looming overpass. He has a moment's satisfaction at the way both men flinch and duck, and then he crouches behind the van door as best he can while their answering fire pelts the steel and glass around him. He feels a sharp burn in his shoulder and cries out in frustrated pain. It's too dark to know if he's been hit by a bullet or shrapnel, but it's only a matter of time before their aim is true enough for it not to matter. Blindly, he fires back, trying to calculate whether he can reach cover to draw their attackers just a little farther away, just for a moment longer. 

Another shot sounds, just once, and even through the roar of the rain it sounds different. Dmitri risks a glance, and sees one of the two men crumpled on the ground. The other agent has turned in surprise, but before he can take aim there is another shot, felling him as well. A shadow steps from behind a cargo container, moving closer to the fallen agent and almost casually putting a bullet into his head when he stirs. The shadow turns, looking over to the van.

Strickland.

"Well hey, Doc," Strickland drawls, the tone freezing Dmitri's blood. His gait is slightly unsteady and he holds his injured hand close to his chest. "What brings you out this way?"

"Strickland…" Dmitri is fairly certain he's out of bullets but that doesn't keep his hand from clenching on his pistol. "How did you—"

" _Colonel_ ," Strickland interrupts, smiling with only his teeth. "Protocol, remember?" Even through sheets of rain, Dmitri can see his eyes aren't quite focused, from either painkillers or blood poisoning, considering the blackening flesh of Strickland's left hand.

"…Colonel," Dmitri amends carefully. "How did you know we needed help?" He forces his eyes to stay on Strickland, and not dart to the van. There's nowhere they can run; he can't even get into the driver's seat before Strickland can grab – or shoot – him.

"Oh, I followed you." Strickland pockets his gun, saunters close. "Or, more to the point, I followed these jokers when you gave me the slip. You're a real sneaky little fucker, you know that?" His hand darts out, clamping down on Dmitri's injured shoulder hard enough to take his breath away and pinning him to the side of the van. "Let's just see what you've got in here."

When he lets go, Dmitri can only stagger behind him as he rounds the corner of the van to open up the back. Inside, Zelda is wide-eyed with terror where she crouches next to Giles, who cowers in the blanket that's wrapped around him. Strickland looks at them in the otherwise empty van, obviously perplexed. "What—?" Slowly understanding dawns, and rage blooms in its wake at their ruse. "That _bitch_!"

There is enough time to register that Strickland has pulled out his pistol, and to see the whites of his eyes and the glint of teeth before Strickland's arm wheels up and hard, crushing pain knocks him to the ground.

-

His vision swims, and he wants to vomit. He's on all fours, closer to the edge of the dock than he should be, and he can hear the squeal of tires fading. He feels hands at his arms and shoulders, and gradually makes out the frantic voices of his companions. 

"—mitri? Dmitri, can you hear me?" 

"Oh God Almighty, he's after Elisa!"

He struggles up, gasping through a wave of dizziness to flail an arm up, grasp Giles' sleeve. "Drive… you have to—" He can't get more words out, but Giles understands and helps Zelda get him into the van. Hurriedly, Zelda bunches the discarded blanket under his head and does her best to hold him still while Giles gets them moving.

The van's swaying and jolting does nothing for his nausea; he rolls upright in the van, gripping the back of the driver's seat while Zelda keeps a supporting hand on his uninjured shoulder. He doesn’t know how much time they bought for Elisa and the amphibian man – he knows they weren't driving for long, but the two of them didn't have far to go on foot. It was a terrible risk, a ridiculously horrible idea, but it's proven to be the best chance they had for the creature's freedom. 

"Dammit, dammit…" Giles is leaned forward, doing his best on the slippery pavement. Dmitri can see the lights from the cinema's marquee looming near, and then they're at another dock with a lone figure standing in the darkness.

"No – Elisa!" Zelda scrambles into the front and out of the van before Giles has completely stopped. Dmitri half-tumbles out behind her and can just make out the crumpled shapes at the end of the dock. Strickland stands looking at his work with tired, gloating accomplishment. 

He sees Zelda run – not the careful, mincing run of a woman in heels, but a determined striding that sweeps her near a pile of lumber and lets her lift one of the boards to connect it with the side of Strickland's head in one continuous motion. Giles, on the other hand, simply runs past as though Strickland isn't there, seeing only his fallen friend. He staggers behind them, his soul howling in grief as he sees the blood on the ground.

They made it right to the edge of the dock. They were right there, they had _time_ … why had the creature not gone? The answer lies in front of him as he looks down, to Elisa's half-curled fingers lying nested in the creature's. It's the same reason why he hadn't simply found a way to the docks himself in the night, allowing them to keep him in Elisa's tiny, tragically insufficient home: He'd wanted to stay, with her. 

Even through his sorrow, as he gently lays his fingers at the amphibian man's temple, his mind relentlessly dictates observations… The amphibian man had fallen first - of course he would have been Strickland's first target. And there would have been no forgiveness for her… It wasn't quick, though, if she had time to seek out one last touch from this being she loved.

He can't stop staring at the bullet holes marring the creature's chest. Strickland's bullets ended a unique, beautiful life that only the smallest handful of people would ever glimpse. They are an insult, an obscenity that drowns out the pain of his injuries in their red spill and leaves him stripped of his intellect, reduced only to an urge to punish the one who did this before he can inflict such damage ever again.

He is drawing breath to rise, hearing Zelda and Giles' mourning for Elisa faintly in the back of his mind, when the corner of his eye catches the tiniest flicker of blue dancing across the creature's scales. It's enough to make him look back, suspecting a trick of the light, when suddenly the amphibian man draws a long, gasping breath and opens his eyes.

Dmitri reels back, watching from on his knees as the creature ( _a god, they worshiped him as a god_ , his mind gibbers) breathes and rolls over, slowly pushing himself up. The markings on his body are alight with constellations, galaxies that ebb and flow, washing over the bullet wounds in his chest as he stands. He looks down to Dmitri and the others, assessing, and for a brief moment their eyes meet. Then, as though rising from a long sleep, he leans into a half-stretch that brings one hand up to his wounds, and simply wipes them away.

Something attracts the creature's attention behind them, and Dmitri follows his gaze to where Strickland is struggling to his feet. His breath catches on a warning shout, but the amphibian man calmly moves past them to approach, making Strickland pause and look up from where he's fumbling to reload his gun. Something in Strickland's expression changes, and as the amphibian man stands before him in obvious judgement, Strickland murmurs something that sounds almost reverent, his gun forgotten. Then the creature moves, quick as thought, and Strickland's hand goes up to his throat, blood flowing in rivers between his fingers as he falls. 

A wail of sirens approaches, but the amphibian man doesn't acknowledge it. He turns with a rumbling sigh, his task finished, and looks back to where Elisa has fallen. Giles holds her limp form close, tucking her head into his shoulder, and Zelda tearfully grips Elisa's hand between her own. 

The creature's hand gently brushes Giles' shoulder as he returns, prompting him to look up as the amphibian man crouches down before him and Zelda. He looks quietly at each of them in turn as the sirens grow closer and flashing lights come into view. Tenderly, the creature reaches out for Elisa, and the three of them help lift her into his arms as he stands. There are shouts behind them now, beams of light slashing wildly, but the creature holds Elisa in a moment of somber peace. Dmitri's mouth opens as if to speak, but there are no words for this. Only his tears come forth, and he hopes desperately that it's enough. The amphibian man looks at them one last time, then turns and steps off the dock with Elisa, barely a splash in the water marking their departure.

\- - -

The aftermath is absurdly prosaic, after everything they've gone through. The police, having been alerted by the gunshots, are all too eager to listen to Dmitri's calm, measured explanations, even in his bloodied state. Careful mention of Occam and invocations of national security are all that's needed to reassure them that this is an internal matter, and they can leave the bulk of the investigation to the experts. Strickland's body is collected, and questions regarding anything else the officers might have seen are met with stern assurances that someone will be coming to take their statement, and their discretion in this mater is paramount. It's amazing, Dmitri reflects, how effective it is to turn their own script upon them – and it even has the benefit of being the truth.

With that crisis delayed, if not averted, they make their escape and Dmitri submits to being taken back to Giles' and Elisa's apartments. He _should_ see a doctor, considering the lump rising on the side of his head, but it's not safe enough. Instead, the three of them pass the night variously supporting one another, talking quietly and trying to absorb what happened.

"He could heal, you know. Others, I mean." 

Dmitri turns slowly, not at all certain he heard Giles correctly. Giles looks up at him from where he's been sitting on his couch looking down at his folded hands. "He healed me, after scratching my arm in a – misunderstanding." He holds out one arm, and then scrubs a hand through his hair. "Gave me my hair back, too. I know you've only got my word for it, but… well, I don't need that anymore," he shrugs, indicating a toupee lying atop a bust at the window. 

Zelda nods, distantly. "Elisa mentioned that to me – that that was why you called her at work that night. I never knew what to think of it. But… we saw. We saw him come back to life." Her expression is as shell-shocked as the rest of theirs.

"He took her with him," Giles murmurs, looking over to the portrait of Elisa and the amphibian man on his drawing board. "The way he looked at us – he knew what he was doing."

Dmitri sits with that thought in silence, pondering what little he knew of Elisa Esposito, and the amphibian man, and of his own self, if he's to be honest. He can't pretend to know what happened here, or out on the docks. He likely never will, either, and he tries to find a way to be at peace with that.

-

"Where will you go?" Zelda fusses a bit as she helps Dmitri into his coat. The wound in his shoulder was shallow, but it's enough to make certain movements painful. 

"I'm not sure." He readjusts the spare set of glasses Giles gave him, to help conceal his features. The prescription is close enough to his own that he should be able to wear them without too much inconvenience. He also has a scarf that Giles insisted on giving him – not much for a disguise, but it's more than he started with, and he's grateful. "I may go north, to start."

"Well, here, just a moment…" Giles opens his door and crosses the hall to Elisa's apartment. Dmitri watches, puzzled, as he heads to the cubbies holding her shoes, and lifts out a box. "She went through a lot of this taking care of her beau, but I think she'd want you to have what's left." He proffers a small handful of bills.

"Oh, I can't…" Dmitri tries to refuse, but Giles steps forward and places the money firmly into his coat pocket.

"Of course you can, my boy. And you should." Giles nods for emphasis, almost hiding how bright his eyes have become.

Zelda nods in firm agreement. "Elisa always took care of people, and she wouldn't want you to have to go empty-handed. So you take that…" she straightens his borrowed scarf, "…and you get somewhere safe, and you do some good. You hear?"

He can only nod once, pressing his lips together in a tight smile to keep them from trembling. "I'll do my best. Thank you." He gives a small bow, and heads for the exit.

Outside, the rain has given way to a bright morning in which everything has the cast of newness that sometimes follows a storm. It's beautiful, in its own way – the way the pavement shines and the street's colors are a bit brighter. He reflects again for a moment that he'll likely never see his home again, and lets that pang go through him. But he knows, from what he saw in the amphibian man's eyes – he is still in the world, and the world is in him. Things begin, and things end, and he did what he could when it mattered the most.

He tucks his hands into his pockets, and disappears into the crowd.

 

- _fin-_


End file.
